Category: Guardian Angel

My first introduction to Abraham was on a cold snowy morning as I was taking a walk. Dressed to combat the chill that instantly struck my face I had barely made it to the next block in my neighborhood when I turned my head to the left to check for any vehicles before proceeding across. In the middle of the back alley lanes I seen a body laying there where no one should have been laying. This was a busy street and had a feeling he couldn’t have been there long. Running, the cold winter sucking the air out of my lungs, it was that cold. I seen a plume of air escape from this man laying in between the two alleys and then almost nothing. Standing over him shouting at him, “Are you okay, are you okay?” His eyes open there was no sign of life, almost a glaze as he stared to the sky.

Frantically looking up and down the alley a small older lady walking her dog came upon us and then a man parking his truck behind the apartment building. He came running over as I yelled for help. Asking for a cell phone I told him to phone an ambulance. He asked if this was my friend on the ground. “No, I don’t know him. I live in the neighborhood and happened to see him.” Staring down at the man on the ground who clearly was not dressed for winter wearing tattered clothes, barely there shoes and a weathered face I prayed that help would come for him soon. There was no air coming out of his mouth and the gaze was fixed.

I was given the phone and asked for that ambulance and as we all waited surrounded the man I told the dispatcher our location, who he was, how he came to be there, was I related to him, all those details that have to be taken care of. As I lived down the street from the EMS I knew it would be minutes before they got there and it was so. Those moments were a blur as me, the older lady and the man stood silently by. The man was quickly loaded onto the stretcher and into the ambulance and thus gone. The three of us parted ways but not before thanking each other for being there.

My mind would go back to that morning many times and often I would wonder of the welfare of this man. It was to be another winter morning not long after that I was in my backyard when he came down the alleyway dragging his right foot and limping along. Recognizing him from that cold wintry morning I approached this tall figure and told him I was there when he brought to the hospital. He broke out in a smile and told me that he had suffered a stroke and that he had just been discharged. He had limited mobility in one arm and his foot but was able to move around. He was homeless. He was hungry. Telling him to wait I ran to my kitchen and made him a sandwich and put that and some fruit, water in a bag which I gave him. As he was collecting bottles I also gave him mine from the garage. Off he went with thanks and a smile.

His name was Abraham Waskahat. He had been living on the streets for some time after coming in from Kehewin, AB. I do believe he was native to Frog Lake, AB. I asked him if he could go back and he told he had nothing there. He had nothing anywhere. His brown face weathered and wrinkled he carried a small backpack that appeared empty.

I made a friend. It was as simple as that. And had helped him. That was momentous. Thanking God for that morning when I really didn’t want to go for a walk but made myself do it. Seeing him from time to time I would give him my collection of bottles and tell him to wait while I made him a lunch. In a way I made it my responsibility to take care of him in a respectful manner. It was one rainy day as I seen him wearing a small jacket barely covering his upper body pushing a Safeway cart with all his belongings and catch of the day. Man, he looked soaked. Value Village happened to be close by so I purchased a man’s spring coat with a hood. Driving down Whyte ave I found him down a alleyway. This huge smile came over his face when he seen me. Oh the memory of that makes me happy. We traded his soaked ripped jacket for the warm one I had. He told me it was like Christmas. I didn’t have bottles but I did have water for him to drink and gave him a few bottles.

All this was in the space of two years or three. I knew I would be leaving my home of 29 years and would soon sell it the next year. Change happens and it was my time. Between the details of the realtor and packing and finding my new space my mind went to Abraham. What was he doing, was he okay as he had suffered another mini stroke just recently. So concerned for this person’s well being. Again I was gifted my last visit with Abraham as I drove through the inner city and seen him pushing a walker. He looked good and taken care of. Parking my vehicle I got out to visit him. He told me that the band chief of Frog Lake had found him and gave him monies owed to him. With that he was able to rent a house with him and his two sons. He told me that he had suffered his third stroke, hence the walker but that the Lord must have had him stay on this earth to help his two boys. He was arranging for them to receive their treaty cards. Sharing my news with Abraham that I too would be moving at the end of that month of April 2016 and was happy that I got to see him one more time. With a handshake and a smile I told him to take care.

It was this early morning, 5:00 am to be exact when he crossed my mind. It has been two and half years since I have seen my friend and wonder here he is. I hope he is okay where ever he is.

A mini vacation was desired and I had a few free days to make those plans to hit the hills. Rather it was the drive through our mountains to arrive on the west coast. A quick visit with a family member, a few photos taken, a few places visit, a few too many times getting lost. It was all fun.

It’s time to get back to my cozy home and so I head out on the highway toward my stop to rest for the night. A trucker’s paradise for those that travel and the coffee shops and fast food dot the side of the road. I duck into this small town and locate my motel. In minutes I am given my key after checking in and bring my weary body to my 2nd floor room. It is at the end of a long hallway. Tucked in next to the only other occupant, a man in this old but clean refuge. I question the fact that we are way at the end of this 60 unit but I do not bring it up to the manager. I unwind for the night and get ready for bed but sleep does not come. It is as if I am not alone. It feels creepy. The tv on to keep me company and the lights too as I try to gain some shut eye. I turn the tv off. That must be it. But still I toss and turn. Blessed relief I find my spot in line to dreamland.

2:30 am. I am suddenly awake. I listen to anything that could have possibly woken me up. No noises. Nothing at all except for the hum of trucks in the distance as they pass this sleepy town. Again I play that game of toss and turn. I know that tomorrow will be another long day of driving and I truly need this rest. I fall to sleep.

4:18 am. Startled awake and it feels darn right icky, creepy and what ever else you want to add. I feel as though something is staring at me. It is not nice. It does not feel good in this room. A male presence is definitely in here. This is where I add that walking into my room my minds eye seen an older man, a slave to the road, tall and grizzled.

I make a hasty plan. Wide awake and nothing, I repeat nothing is going to keep me here. It takes minutes but am washed, dressed, packed and carry two loads of luggage down that long hallway to my car. Desperately wanting out of there. Fast. It is dark when I leave but know that I am safe with the truckers following them down these mountain roads. Safe.

It was days later that I knew I had those same feelings growing up as a child in a 1930’s bungalow. Being stared at. It creeped me out. It was many days, many years that I dealt with this staring. How could one forget. Frightful nights and days of an eerie sensation undefined and not substantive. But this gal did until walking into it again. Hello Spirit.

I am in the hospital and giving birth to you. I have made the decision to give you up for adoption. It is by far the hardest thing ever for me to do this but it is the right thing. I have nowhere to go. There is no support. None.

I lay on a stretcher in a quiet room and it is now after the pushing, the noise in the birthing room. I ache. I cry. I lay there and think, “What now?” Have the nurses forgotten me? After a time I am wheeled into a four bed room and the nurses pull the curtain around me for privacy. I cry some more. I hear the other three mothers talking quietly among themselves as they feed their babies. I am to stay here for a week to convalesce. I do what I want and I ask for my child. The nurses ask me if this is a good thing for me to do. I want to hold my daughter in my arms. To remember her sweetness. If I do not do this I know that not doing it will kill me. She is brought to me and still the curtain surrounds my bed with us two in there. A cocoon. I feel safe with her. When I leave I will have nowhere to go. But for now I am safe with her. I stare at her fingers. Her eyelids and I noticed a long blood vessel and I try to memorize what it looks like. This will be the identifying feature when I go searching for her. This is the plan. She is such a good babe. I rarely hear her cry. She is with me almost 24/7. The staff is concerned. The welfare worker is concerned. I tell them not to worry. I will give the baby up for adoption. I will not change my mind. They are concerned for my welfare though. I lie to them. All is well I say to them. All is well. The days pass and I know the countdown comes. I cry when she is not with me. I cry out loud one night that one of the mothers from the other bed comes to me and hugs me tight. I sob more now. A dam that has been broken. I ask her to leave. I will be okay. I am already grieving my girl. Danielle Lise.

The worker comes with the long document and carefully goes through it me to make sure I understand it. I understand more than she knows. I know that Danielle’s parents are in the building waiting. Hoping. Scared that I will change my mind. I am resolute. I will not. I do not. I sign the paper. I have written my baby a letter and it is attached to the document. This document I will not see again until Danielle turns 18. The childish writing of a skinny, scared girl not knowing where she will go in the world. I spend the last hour with my girl and my heart breaks. It breaks. Shatters. Then she is gone. It is fast. The signing of the paper and so soon they take her. She is no longer mine. But I know in my heart she has gone to her mom, the woman who will teach her to love, to know joy, to watch her grow. I cannot think about that anymore as I dress and walk out of the hospital into the day.

He asked, “Why are you here? I looked at you and seen you are healed.” I had been asked this question by a elder, Stuart Brown in 2013 and was with a group that had been invited to see this healer. I joined them because I was curious. My answer popped out of my lips. “I would like my name” I say. He then prepared a ceremony for me. I gave him his tobacco. I was calm and at peace. After a time he told me my name, “Dancing Rainbow Woman.” He then gave me counsel. What an honor. I felt complete.

To see ceremony opened my eyes to the spiritual realm of our people. I had always considered a healer to be such as this man but I do know that healing comes in different aspects. My way would be through the messages that would come through me to client. Being told that I would be healer caught me off guard and I didn’t equate it with what my mind desired. My mind said you will lay hands on people. To make connections with spirit is what my heart desired and then it was so. I consider my life blessed and thank Creator with so much gratitude and for the people either teachers or students that have come in my life. Not everyone get’s to stay that long in your lifetime. Some stay a short time as in my instance with this elder who gave me so much with empowerment and a sense of self and also guidance. For this, I give heartfelt thanks.

Some died of a life lived well and some didn’t. At the time I didn’t understand why you went away. My heart broke. I was not alone in this. Each one of you left broken hearts. Shattered. I now look back with fondness and so much love that you were in my life for some time. Each one of you had so much purpose for me. Grandparents who raised and loved me and did all they could. Friends who told great stories, made me laugh, fed me and my child, sometimes irked me (I will not lie Russell..hahaha!) some that told me there deepest secrets. There were a few that shared there lives and included me in their own family celebrations, and one that I got a tattoo from. Some that sat with me and gave me great advice and made me laugh and told me that life wasn’t so bad. Some that put there arm around my weary shoulder and told me to keep on keeping on. There were also my two dogs, Brownie & Blackie that I had when I was very small who I have never forgotten and my kitty. Cannot forget them. Never. They gave unconditional love.

It is subtle. It is to the core. This madness. This, I would do anything to have you back, once again. I would do anything for a do over. Please. Are you listening?

I want, I desire to hear your voice again, your laughter, your wisdom, your touch..your touch. Do you hear me? I cry. I cry again. I miss you like you don’t know. I cry until my eyes hurt. I cry to my inner soul in so much anguish.

And it passes.

I laugh. Did you just make me laugh? I thought of something that you did. You know, that mannerism of grabbing your chin and your tongue pops out and you would grab my chubby hand and make me tug your ear and your tongue would pop back again. Crazy.

There have been times in my life where I knew not where I was going. One minute I found myself wondering how I came to be here on earth. And I asked myself why? Happy times spent as a family unit and then thrust into isolation without mother and father. Is isolation time spent with aunts and uncles? With grandparents? You know what I talk about when I say the love is different. They care about you but not on that level as you do when you love the smell of your dad and his smiles and silly talk. I knew my family cared about me but I felt so lonely growing up. That small girl who no one explained to, “Hey, we got to take care of business so we can live, you know! But we’ll be back for sure!” This was also the time of my first sexual assault as a very young child with no one to run to.

My first guide in my life besides my father was my maternal grandmother, Julia. I loved her with all my being. Totally. She died 3 days after my third birthday. One minute she was there, the next gone. It ripped me. My grandfather was desolate. He was to go shortly after, a few years but still. It has been said that the ages between 0-3 are the years that a child is nurtured and learns security, love, comfort, confidence and making choices. Thank goodness for grandma. Where would I be without her.

The years pass by me and it’s all learning as this girl doesn’t listen. Too much control going on with parental units in the way of my mother and my stepfather. Maybe I did listen to them when I was young but I grew headstrong and did what I wanted. After all did I not have the freedom to do that when I was with my aunts and uncles and roaming the countryside. I had so much trouble happening in my head and not having direction was to run away time and time again. I left home at 16 as I had a job and lived with my brother for a time. I became pregnant at 17 and left school. My one saving grace, school. I blossomed there. I excelled under the guidance of my psychology teacher, Mr. Bianchini and the art teacher, Mr. Zipp. I understood the mechanics of the mind and gained high marks for that. Mr. Zipp seen a spark in me and I was to become the class model for those years in that big old high school. Mr. Bianchini asked me why I wasn’t returning to his class the last year and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there and now that I was pregnant. I wasn’t brave enough. Would my life been different then the path I decided to take and follow my choices. I do not know. I had the child but did not attain the mother of year award. My parents stepped in and took him. After a time they adopted him. My heart broke. It broke into a million pieces. It sounds cliche. I was to have no contact with him. None. This is the way they wanted it.

I became homeless. Depressed. I discovered there was another side to life that knowing now would never, ever enter. Ever. I stole to eat. Raiding gardens, going into stores and stuffing a bag with whatever I could get. That time was not a good time but I was not to stay in that space for long. Entering into relationships hoping for security and receiving nothing gave me disappointment. Finding a house to live in with five other young people my age was to present huge parties. Not a stable life. But it was so much fun back then. And then it wasn’t. There were problems and once again I was homeless. I persevered. I moved for a time with my friends and found a job. Good old 7-11.

Time passes and in that air I have two more children and one to give up for adoption as this was the time I was living on the streets, sleeping on friends couches. Aimless. The third child I took courage and wanted more out of life. My father was still alive and came to see us in the hospital. I so loved this memory. My father was to pass on my son’s 3rd birthday year. Abusive relationship were to follow for me. My self esteem in shatters. There had been no time to grieve any thing that had passed. No time to grieve the son that was taken, the daughter I gave up for adoption and then my father. No. Time. To. Grieve. But I did find the courage and strength to overcome that man. That man that yelled and hurled abuse on me. I was to find a letter the other day of him writing from jail. How he was so sorry for hitting me. I have no memory of that. Absolutely no memory. He was very graphic and gave so many details but nothing sparked in my memory banks. Now is that a saving grace. I say yes to that. I had to find this guidance on my own and crawl out of that hole.

Life does indeed go on and sometimes at a snail’s pace and sometimes in light streaming down the road. I have had trauma, but also joy mixed in with mine. It has not all been bad. There was the joy of having my children. The happiness of my heart seeing my 3rd child grow. It has all been an experience and for this life class I have been in to be used for people that are going through the same thing. It amazes me with the gift that I had had and how it came in handy for me through the younger days. It got me through so many good times too. I just didn’t know what it was.

I sit here in the morning sun and thank god for all that have some into my life to make in into what it is today. All those experiences that have made me a strong, confident, empowered woman. The guides now are spiritual and some earth based as in my friends or my tribe as I like to call them. They are all my touch stone. They ground me. I know that I am in safe hands. I know there is more for me out there and I can hardly wait!!